Nine Feet Underground

The idea for this post began from a strange feeling I had one morning in the past week. How do I know I am me? What makes me, me? Is 'me' the physical body that is typing this or is 'me' the thing (mind?) thinking these thoughts that is directing my physical body to interact with the keyboard and type? Or maybe I am the combination of the two aspects? It also depends on whether the mind is purely physical (chemical reactions) or something more, something unknown and undefined. Is 'my' existence inevitable or purely random?  Was the egg that, once fertilised, grew to be me, only ever going to be me, if fertilised? I was one egg out of millions, combined with one sperm out of millions.  Are all eggs identical until fertilised by one unique sperm? I have sisters, and so were their eggs predestined to be them and not me. Is the DNA of all eggs from the same mother identical? Can any one egg can become any particular offspring if combined with the right sperm? For id...

'I write this sitting in the kitchen sink': obviously I don't, but it's a great opening line - full marks if you know which novel this is the opening sentence of. Sink notwithstanding, a pretty mundane start to the day; I really do need to do something about this. Son #1 and I sat and ate breakfast together, shopping all put away, and had a long discussion about Afghanistan, Zoroastrianism, Islam, Buddhism and the general success (or not) of intervention in the Middle East.  When I get time with my sons (when they aren't asleep, chirpsing, or on video calls with their gfs) we do have interesting discussions about all sorts of things with son #1 having a much a broad knowledge of pre-modern civilisations and religions which put mine to shame. Afterwards I always think I really need to learn more about some of these things, but there's only so much time, or at least there is while I'm working. I made lunch, read the papers and then finally found the time to un...